Among the Cigar Inn Dignitaries

Ralph Gardner Jr. Puffs Away on a Night that Catsimatidis Is Guest of Honor

Sept. 4, 2013 8:44 p.m. ET

I was slightly apprehensive Tuesday evening about spending an hour at the Cigar Inn among copious amounts of smoke, aromatic though it was, and perfect strangers. Especially after discovering the sad truth that, because of some law or other, cigar bars, at least this one, don't serve alcohol—though there was a barbershop and a shoeshine stand with attendants at the ready.

An advance man had said that an hour was estimated before mayoral candidate John Catsimatidis's arrival. A Cigar Inn regular, he was the evening's guest of honor. He was coming to receive the warmth of his cigar band of brothers, and a few notable sisters; and to bask in the accolades that seem to flow naturally among cigar smokers—more than a few of whom see themselves as warriors against political correctness, valiant soldiers sharing a foxhole fighting a common foe: the perceived Bloomberg-style Nanny State.

I needn't have worried: As soon as I walked in, I spotted Mortimer Matz, a veteran p.r. man who I've known since the 1970s, when I worked at the Department of Correction and he represented the Correction Officers Benevolent Association, the officers union. Mr. Matz, who offered to introduce me around, is known affectionately at the Cigar Inn as the "chairman"—not only because of his natural authority and elegance, but also because he said he owns the plushest leather chair at the Cigar Inn's Upper East Side location. (The gathering for Mr. Catsimatidis was occurring at the Midtown store.)

Regardless, introductions were hardly necessary. Say what you will about cigars and cigar bars, but they may be among the few places in New York—a city, despite what anyone contends, that indulges elites and that traffics in exclusivity—where you're accepted, whether hedge-fund manager or handyman, simply because you possess the intellectual gifts to enjoy cigars.

The event wasn't a fundraiser. It wasn't even a "friendraiser," as Mr. Catsimatidis, the Gristedes-owning billionaire, likes to characterize his campaign gatherings. No contributions were asked for or expected. In fact, while supplies lasted, the Cigar Inn was giving a complimentary cigar to each guest, the event's sponsors a long list of cigar makers including Miami Cigar & Co., La Aurora, Davidoff of Geneva, Montecristo and the one that store manager Geson Sakha bestowed on me—a light but full-bodied Herrera Esteli from Nicaragua.

"He enjoys a cigar every now and then," Mr. Sakha said of the candidate, who frequents the uptown location. "He comes with his friends Saturday morning after breakfast. He smokes a few different brands—sometimes Davidoff, sometimes Padrón and sometimes the house blend."

Despite the beleaguered-minority role cigar smokers and the emporiums that service them project—"He will abolish the Nanny State," Mr. Sakha vowed of Mr. Catsimatidis—Mr. Matz contended that cigar stores can be a profitable business "even before they open. They build these lockers and rent them by the year."

He was referring to the elegant, humidified storage lockers that often hold more than cigars. Greg Ghirardi, who works in the financial industry, as many Cigar Inn regulars seem to do, told me his cigars share space with his vodka. "My favorite is Ketel One and Tito's," he said.

I didn't notice whether he was drinking that evening. If I had, I definitely would have invited him to share some with me.

But cigars, not alcohol, seemed to be the intoxicant of choice. I know I felt lightheaded before long. To Mr. Matz's left side—Mr. Ghirardi was on his right—sat Burt Schoenbach and his wife Rose Trentman, both puffing away contentedly.

Few Cigar Inn regulars come without a back story, but that couple's seems more colorful than most. Mr. Schoenbach, dressed in a turquoise guayabera shirt—apparently in tribute to the first time he smoked a cigar ("I started smoking in Havana in 1950, a place called H. Upmann Cigars," he remembered)—identified himself as a former New York state correction commissioner and his wife as "the first woman boxing commissioner in New York, appointed by Mario."

Ms. Trentman smiled and kept puffing away at her Puros Indios.

Other luminaries, who were presented to me in passing, included Ronald Haas, who was described by Mr. Matz as an NYPD detective formerly assigned to Manhattan D.A. Robert Morgenthau's office. "I'm going to say hello to some of the boys," Mr. Haas said, excusing himself.

And Johnny "Pots and Pans." "I did the Imus show for a long time," Mr. Pots and Pans explained.

It would be unfair to describe Mr. Catsimatidis's arrival as a minor event—though the place was packed and loud and it was something of a challenge to see through the tobacco smoke. His entrance and that of his entourage, which included his wife, Margo, was accorded substantial fanfare. But then again—and this is the beauty of cigar shops—just about anybody who walks through the door is greeted as a visiting dignitary.

ENLARGE

Burt Schoenbach
Andrew Kelly for The Wall Street Journal

Mr. Catsimatidis and I go way back, even though we'd actually never met before. The connection is through his daughter Andrea, whom I first encountered buying up a storm at Minamoto Kitchoan, the Japanese confectionery shop in Rockefeller Center. I subsequently wrote about her in her role as president of the NYU College Republicans.

Ms. Catsimatidis has since graduated and, according to her dad, is on her way to restoring the Gristedes chain to its former glory.

"She likes the supermarket business," he reported. "She's looking at an acquisition already."

The candidate made his way through a sea of well wishers, including Audrey Silk, the head of Clash—Citizens Lobbying Against Smoker Harassment—and herself a former mayoral candidate, under the Libertarian Party banner in 2005.

Ms. Silk, who is also a retired cop, told me she'd met Mr. Catsimatidis through the journalist Sidney Zion. "Sid Zion introduced me to John at cigar events at the Players Club," she remembered. "I got to know Sid because he was writing columns against smoking bans. He'd be rolling in his grave."

Despite his reputation for shooting from the hip, the candidate was surprisingly circumspect when it came to throwing the regulars red meat or promising that Mayor Bloomberg's various bans would bite the dust if he became mayor.

"Bloomberg means well," he told the crowd. "But I think we should do it through education," he said of getting people to swear off fructose. "You can't force people to say you can't drink a 32-ounce Coke. You can't turn our streets from five lanes to two lanes."

He even declined somebody's invitation to light up a cigar. "I wish I could have one now," he sighed, "but The Wall Street Journal is watching."

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